All Unwritten
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and one-shots based on lj prompts. None of these follow S4/S5 canon.
1. Chapter 1

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: Other than playing in the sandbox, I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis.

Author's Note: This is a collection of drabbles and one-shots based on prompts from the livejournal community **all unwritten**. Apparently, I'm a shipper at heart, though I hope to expand into gen-team/city stories.

Prompt: _In the beginning_

* * *

In the beginning, they didn't realize what was happening. A gesture, a smile; a word, a tone — It was simple, unlike everything else that surrounded them. They chose to see it that way, even when Fate was pulling all the strings.

In the beginning, she stared at the structures around her in awe, wondering what discoveries lay before her, and he stared at the structures around him in shock, wondering what he had gotten himself into. They hadn't yet come to call this place 'home.'

In the beginning, she worked with words and he worked with weapons. The battlegrounds were different: she waged war on the pompous behind glass walls and around conference tables, he waged war on the murderous behind trees and whatever cover he could find. She fought her battles to shield her people; he fought his battles to protect his people. They didn't see that they were on two different paths to the same summit.

In the beginning, she saw him as an unknown variable and he saw her as a familiar variable. She knew he was a pilot—disgraced, yes, but a soldier just the same. He knew she was a diplomat—compassionate, yes, but a politician just the same. They conveniently 'forgot' to realize when they knew that the other cared deeply—perhaps too deeply—for the people around them. She discovered the secrets he held, and he held the secrets she discovered. They didn't know that they would share the same secrets.

In the beginning, she was running from her life and he was running from his pain. She left someone behind; he left too many behind. They didn't know they were fleeing toward each other.

In the beginning, they didn't know they were in love.


	2. Chapter 2

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis; I'm just borrowing the sandbox for a little while.

Author's Note: Heh. I write under several different names. I have no idea why my brain took a vacation when I posted yesterday. Okay, so it was around two o'clock in the morning without coffee. I'm not doing that again.

Prompt: _Four empty lines_

* * *

I stare down at four empty lines.

_The moonlight spills into my darkened office._

Fifty-four names have filled the list, and four spaces remain.

_Bright silver on my desk reflects the gentle light of twin moons._

Fifty-four people, who lived, laughed, and loved, with hopes and dreams of happiness and success less than a year before.

_Even one set is one too many._

Fifty-four people who blindly came for the adventure of their lives, throwing themselves into the unknown to discover the incredible, and uncovered their own mortality.

_Is it my fault?_

Fifty-four people believed in a promise to keep them safe from harm, an assurance made that all would be well.

_My mind says 'No.'_

Twenty people went out this morning, in search of that unbelievable discovery.

_My heart says 'No.'_

Sixteen people returned this evening, elated to live another day.

_My conscience says 'Perhaps.'_

Four are missing; separated from my flock.

_My soul only grieves for the lost and fears for the absent._

Ten have gone to search for them.

_This is my atonement for sins that are not mine to pay._

Hours ago, they discovered blood, staining sharp rocks and unforgiving ground.

_This is my penance for sins that I never meant to commit._

The retrieval team has been silent ever since.

_This is the cost that I can never forget, people that I have failed to protect._

Until now, when the shrill wail of the klaxons scream through the still night and the radios scramble to life, frantic words drifting past me.

_This is the burden I will bear to the end of my days._

Through my office windows, the majestic awe of the incredible falters in the presence of the sickening anxiety that chokes my breath.

_Give this mercy—spare their lives._

I hold my father's pocket watch in my hand, its silver chain tangled in my fingers and digging into my flesh.

_Grant me this grace—let them come home._

Fourteen people return; some walking, limping, and being carried by their comrades-in-arms, but fourteen have returned to me just the same.

I stare down at four empty lines and pray they remain forever empty.


	3. Chapter 3

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: Other than playing in the sandbox, I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis.

Author's Note: I veer quite often off of canon. The pairing is ambiguous, but… well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Prompt: _The window rattled_

* * *

The window rattled from the sudden gust of wind and she flinched slightly at the unexpected noise. It brought to mind pebbles thrown at her older sister's window in the dark of night, pebbles she pretended not to hear until it was too late.

She shoved her tattered absolution aside, pulling the warm blanket around her tightly to keep out the cold.

He whimpered in the darkness, curling in on himself protectively, his hand curling over the long white scar that marred his skin. As the fierce ocean raged beyond the tinted glass, he did not wake from his nightmares, but he did seek her warmth and comfort.

He was terrified in his sleep, trusting her with not only his heart, but his humanity as well.

She slid down to lie beside him, tucking the blankets securely around them to keep in the heat. She did not question how he knew her secret or why he chose to respond to them.

He relaxed in her embrace, his hand dropping away from his arm to sleepily take one of hers. Blue eyes silted open and she saw the fierce love and protectiveness in them.

There were things you did not question in life.

Happiness was one of them.


	4. Chapter 4

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm just in the sandbox. I don't actually own it. I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis.

Author's Note: Just to warn you, this prompt ended up with two drabbles and a one-shot.

Prompt: _...and it was enough to make him cry_

Loss

* * *

When he realized she was never coming back to him, he shut himself away in her quarters and slowly began to pack her belongings. Carter was wise enough, kind enough not to comment; she may have even understood. He was fine, numb in that heavy state of denial before heartbroken grief hit, until he opened a small carved wooden box, hidden away in her personal desk. Nestled inside, beside a silver engagement ring, was a letter, addressed to him in her beautiful handwriting. _In the event of my death._ It was enough to make him cry.

She was gone.

Forever.


	5. Chapter 5

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the sandbox. I have nothing to do with SGA.

Author's Notes: This is the drabble is a sequal to _Loss_.

Prompt: _… and it was enough to make him cry_

Sleep

* * *

Resting peacefully, her expression angelic in her drugged sleep, she looked completely different from the begrimed woman in bloodstained clothes that he had carried off of a Puddlejumper hours before. He knew that reality would crash in on her serenity when she woke up, but that was tomorrow. Taking it out of his pocket, he slipped the ring where it belonged before he took her hand. Right now, he simply stared at her, repeating to himself that this moment, all of this was real and it was enough to make him cry.

She was alive. She was safe.

She was home.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm just in the sandbox. I don't actually own it. I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis.

Author's Note: Hi again...I'm seriously beginning to think that my romance/Sparky muse will not leave me _alone_. This drabble was written up before the airing of 'Kindred.'

Prompt: _… and it was enough to make him cry_

* * *

When he realized she was never coming back to him, he shut himself away in her quarters and slowly began to pack her belongings. Carter was wise enough, kind enough not to comment; she may have even understood.

He methodically went through her clothes, folding them neatly into cardboard boxes that he sealed for shipment. He didn't linger over the red silk blouse she had worn that first night or the pearl dress shirt that paired with the gray business skirt that had floored him (metaphorically) and the IOA (more literally), for different reasons. A smile didn't even touch his lips at the memory of her calm counterattack on the IOA panel that seemed determined to question every decision she had ever made. She had won that round, hands down, leaving her interrogators in a slight state shock at her formidable will.

Handling each object with the same care he had always seen her display when she moved them, he went through her belongings. There were the few small mementos she had brought from Earth, trinkets from her career with the United Nations that she couldn't leave behind. He knew the stories behind most, but not all, of them. A part of him, one that was firmly walled off from his present reality, wished they had more time to share the stories of their lives before Atlantis. He wished he could hear her voice one more time, wistfully recalling tales from her brilliant career. He wished he could see the distant expression again in her green eyes as she spoke of faraway locales she had seen and diplomatic high jinks she had experienced. He wished… he wished for a lot of things, and the majority of them didn't happen.

Most of the items in her room were furnishings traded from the Athosians or gifts that she had received from their allies in Pegasus. They ranged from the practical (a squat clay vase that held pencils, a warm throw knit in the brilliant colors of the rainbow) to the merely decorative (a statue of a local fertility goddess, a wall hanging that looked like a dreamcatcher, except with shimmering, rare shells dangling from the frame). He sorted the objects into two piles of what could and couldn't be returned to her mother, accompanied by the carefully-worded condolence letter that said nothing about her brilliant daughter's accomplishments under the constant threat of death. He had attempted to write a letter that conveyed the expedition's gratefulness for her leadership, but he knew that the final call of what would be said and read would be made by the SGC as well as the IOA, and _that_ made it unlikely that her mother would ever know the full extent of her accomplishments. The nature of 'need-to-know' meant that Mrs. Weir would never hear a word of praise about her daughter's work in building solid alliances out of mistrust and suspicion, in leading this expedition with a fair hand, sharp mind and a kind heart, in managing to persuade civilian and military personnel to work together seamlessly (mostly), in making this far-flung and dangerous outpost feel like a home. A few would ever know about her accomplishments, and he doubted that more than a handful would ever know about the strong woman she was. He was one of the lucky ones.

He put aside her laptop to look at later, knowing that the hard drive would have to be purged of top-level, classified information before it was even released to Caldwell's custody. As cordial the relations were now between the two men, there were some things that he didn't want to test Caldwell's loyalty to the city (to her) on. Plus, he knew that there were documents and pictures on her computer that she would want destroyed, or at least removed, before anyone—especially the IOA—got their hands on it. A part of him suspected that the laptop might meet with a fatal 'accident' on its way to the SGC, possibly courtesy of a certain full-bird Colonel, but he didn't want to gamble on that possibility. She wouldn't have wanted him to. This was too important, too private for him to entrust to anyone else, not even their friend and resident genius, to accomplish. Rodney would understand why he had to be the one to do it, had to be the one who went through all of her files and erased what didn't need to go back to the SGC, what didn't need to be known by everyone and their mothers, what didn't need to be seen by anybody who didn't already know. The Canadian genius might be an idiot when it came to some social matters, but not this one. If anything, the man had been the first to figure it out and shut up about it within the span of five minutes.

He put away the pieces that made up her life with precise motions that spoke of repetition, of having gone through this process before too many times for other fallen soldiers, of moving without thinking because the very action of thought would bring down all the cold walls he had erected to wall his emotions in.

In the top drawer of her desk, under a leather-bound journal that listed painfully familiar names in a somberly diligent manner, he found the thick packet that was her last will and testament, naming him the executor of her estate in Pegasus. He carefully read her wishes in silence, the graceful loops and elegant curves of her words tracing neat lines across the white paper. She was nothing but thorough in her planning, compassionate in her thoughts, and ever the leader in her actions, even in death. In the packet, there were letters, addressed to various members of the expedition. He half-heartedly went through them, noting the people he needed to deliver her last words of gratitude, encouragement and comfort to. He knew that that was what those letters contained, because she had loved Atlantis fiercely, and its people even more dearly; this city had become her home as it had his, these people had become her family as they had his. She knew how much she owed them, and he knew how she felt she had never expressed her appreciation enough. She had needed this final chance to say goodbye and thank you to her people, and she had known they would need it too.

When he found the photographs of the two of them, the ones that had been pressed into their hands without a word and secretive smiles from various members of the city, he had placed the entire album in an empty box. Even when he found the silver ring wrapped in a silk scarf, Ancient script lovingly etched into the metal, he just simply put it aside in a box that contained all evidence of their lives together, as friends, as companions, as leaders, as more. He would face those memories later.

He was fine, numb in that heavy state of denial before heartbroken grief, until he opened a small carved wooden box, hidden away in her personal desk. Nestled inside was a letter, addressed to him in her beautiful handwriting. _In the event of my death_, it said, and it was enough to make him cry.

He had failed her.

She was gone.

* * *

He paced up and down the corridor outside of the infirmary. Other than departing for needed tasks and a side trip to his room, he had spent the majority of the day here, issuing orders over the radio or conversing with Lorne about semi-urgent matters before returning to his informal vigil. Residents of the city, civilian and military alike, wandered past him at regular intervals, their body language broadcasting their need for news as if they had all been hollering for it aloud. He wished he could tell them something, _anything_ concrete, but he had no news or words to reassure her restless people. He had none for himself. Joining him in his silent vigil was his team who sat on the hard chairs in the designated waiting area, minus Rodney, who was inside with Carson, Jennifer, Radek, half of the science division, nearly the entire medical staff, and… and her.

Pegasus had stolen so much from all of them, but it had gifted them a handful of miracles in the years they had spent living under these foreign stars. Would this be one more? Would this miracle, like Carson's, be without suspicion and deceit? One return from the dead was nowhere close to making up for all the pain, suffering and loss this expedition had endured, but he had learned not to ask for anything from the Ancients or any other 'higher' power. Most of the time, his pleas went ignored. One friend had to be enough; he knew she… she would have been happy it was Carson who returned, and not her. She would have said that he was more important than she was, because she was an administrator, not a doctor, and would have refused to back down from that reasoning. That was the way she was, so brilliant when it came to seeing others' importance to the whole, so blind when it came to her own worth. Was. Or was it is?

Which brought him to the crux of the entire situation: was it her lying on the gurney in there? Was it really her who stepped cautiously out from behind the half-crumbled walls of a long-culled civilization, clearly injured and exhausted? Was it really her who collapsed into his startled arms without warning, his hands automatically releasing his weapon to cradle her fragile body close to his?

He let out a slow sigh, releasing his impatience and anxiety. Teyla gave him a supportive smile as she shifted her son's weight on her lap. The baby babbled cheerfully as he sat in his mother's protective embrace, happily unaware of the tension that had descended on his home several hours ago with the arrival of a stranger he had never met, a woman who had disappeared and was mourned as dead before he was even born.

"She'll be okay," drawled Ronon, not moving from his position against the wall. "McKay's a genius, after all."

Teyla looked heavenward, perhaps thanking her ancestors that the chief scientist of the city was not present to hear the compliment. It would have caused the man in question to preen unrelentingly. She was a patient woman (with her teammates and friends, she had to be), but even she preferred to avoid trying situations when possible.

"It's true," Ronon pointed out, "and he isn't here." The doors on the other side of the hall opened with a soft swish of air. People began streaming out of the infirmary, passing with respectful nods and greetings to the anxiously waiting flagship team of the expedition. He relaxed a little, noticing the general air of relieved joy among the exiting group. If previous experience with the speed of the Lantean grapevine held true (and it would), the happy news would be all over the city within the hour. Now the _details_ of that happy news…that was still unknown.

"Who isn't here?" asked Rodney, stepping through the doorway, looking around at his team, still holding a data pad in his hand. Ronon shrugged casually, "Nothing." The scientist frowned, knowing that he was being lied to, but before he could pester the Satedan warrior for a real answer, something on his data pad caught Rodney's eye.

"How is she?" He hid his surprise at hearing Carter's voice from behind him. He knew that over a decade of experience on SG-1 had taught the second expedition leader of Atlantis a wide range of skills, including the Special Ops ability to sneak up on anyone she wanted. She didn't use that talent as often as she used to these days, but sometimes she did it unconsciously. He gave her a courteous nod of acknowledgement as she came to stand by his side; she nodded back in greeting.

Rodney shrugged and jabbed his stylus over his shoulder at the closed infirmary doors, "Ask the voodoo master."

"McKay…" she repeated, as if he was especially slow. The Canadian sighed in exasperation, "Do you _think_ I'd be standing here if she was a threat to the city? No, of course not. As far as I'm concerned, she's the only Asuran left in this galaxy, and plus she's only half which makes things both so much easier and insanely harder, but I've made sure that even if she isn't the only one left, no one can tamper with her base code except me and Radek and maybe Jennie."

Carter's expression was carefully blank after the irritated response, but he could see that she was holding back a sigh. All of them knew that she hadn't been asking about the technical details, but rather, with the genuine concern of her predecessor's wellbeing. They all knew that Rodney had never quite accepted Carter as expedition leader to some extent — the man respected her scientific knowledge, her military expertise and her leadership abilities, but he always felt that her Air Force training skewed the balance of power between civilian and military in the city. He was never blatantly disrespectful — not any more so than he was with everyone else — but there was also a wary edge to his attitude toward her; Rodney trusted her to make sound technical decisions, but not entirely to make good ethical ones.

"Do you know if we can see her?" asked Teyla, shifting in her seat. He moved over to her side and glanced at her with a silent offer in his eyes. She inclined her head slightly in permission and he picked up her son, holding onto the child firmly as the boy squirmed a little in his grasp, waving his rattle in the air. Free of her son's weight, Teyla stood up and stretched her legs.

"As soon as Carson's finished with his—" began Rodney, only to be interrupted by a Scottish brogue, "You can see her now."

"Carson, how is she?" asked Carter again. The CMO waved all of them into the infirmary, taking Teyla's son into his arms, before he responded to the question. The baby began to tug happily at the lapels of the doctor's white lab coat, cooing to himself. With one hand, Carson made sure to keep the boy's rattle away from his face.

"She's been through the wringer, but she's going to be fine. We've got her on some supportive equipment, just to ease the strain on her systems. We're still waiting on her bloodwork to make sure that there aren't any nasty surprises waiting for us, and she might have a wee spot of surgery in her future. It's a bit of a waiting game at the moment though. She's stable, and that's really all that matters for now."

Carson led them toward the back of the infirmary, toward the private rooms. "We gave her a bit of something to keep her calm during the exam and tests. She should be sleeping now." While he was speaking to group as a whole, in particular, the doctor gave Rodney a stern look, "So no loud noises. She needs her rest."

The scientist looked mildly offended, but didn't protest. Loudly anyway. Rodney stayed behind with Carson, their verbal battle carried out in pitched whispers, while the rest of the group walked into her room. The nurse gave them a smile as she finished her tasks and left the area to give them privacy. He hung back a little, letting Teyla, Ronon and Carter move past him.

She was sleeping peacefully, machinery monitoring her steady heartbeat and slow respirations. An IV line snaked down into her arm, the saline preventing her from becoming dehydrated and helping to rebalance her electrolytes. Covering half of her face, a non-rebreather mask supplied extra oxygen to her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered slightly and she mumbled indistinct words under her breath as she slept. Freshly bathed and dressed in a hospital gown, she looked completely different from the dirt-streaked woman in bloodstained clothes that had been carried off of a Puddlejumper hours before. Instead of looking deathly-injured, she just looked frail, but cared for.

He knew that it would be different when she woke up — questions that had to be asked, fears that had to be dealt with, issues that needed to be cleared up — but that was tomorrow. Coming slowly to her bedside, he covered one of her warm hands with his as he sat down on a hard plastic chair. He reached into his pocket with his other hand and removed the item he had taken off of his bedside table a few hours before. Without a word, he slipped the small box under their joined hands. He knew that she would see it when she woke up, and she would know that he would be with her on every step of her journey. It would be a long, uphill battle to keep her safe and here in the city, but he knew it was a battle that they would eventually win, no matter how long or how exhausting it would be. Still, it was a battle for tomorrow. The opening volleys had not begun yet, and there was peace on the horizon, however brief.

Right now, at this moment, he simply stared at her, drinking the sight of her into his mind and heart, repeating over and over to himself that this — her hand under his, her angelic expression as she slept, her unruly curls spread out on the pillow — all of this was real, and it was enough to make him cry.

She was alive. She was safe.

She was home.


	7. Chapter 7

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm playing in the sandbox. That's it.

Author's Note: I'm still alive and kicking. Barely.

Prompt: _All I could do …_

* * *

"GO!"

All I could do was run, because that was what she wanted me to do. With every step I took, I knew I was abandoning her to a fate worse than death. I cursed myself as we fled from the Asurans and made a vow: I would do everything I could to save her. All I could do for her was never give up until I had found her and brought her home, and make sure our people didn't give up either.

All I could do was watch them leave, one dragging the other away, anguish in both their expressions. I knew they didn't want to leave me behind, and I didn't want to stay behind either, but none of us were going to survive if I didn't do this, so I stayed and told them to go. His eyes swore to me that he would come back for me and I tucked that expression into the depths of my mind. All I could do now was fight for my survival and do my best to escape before he had to rescue me.

* * *

"Elizabeth?"

All I could do was stare at the familiar faces, drinking in the sight of them standing in front of me, alive and whole, unbloodied and healthy. Their expressions ranged from shocked to delighted, with caution shading their disbelief. Words failed me, perhaps not for the last time in my life, but I could hardly care. A part of me wanted to sob with joy; another to fall on my knees in gratitude that I would be safe and home soon; another to flee because I'd changed, maybe too much to ever go back home; another to run forward to embrace them all, to make sure this wasn't a dream. All I could do was stand there, my handiwork falling out of my slack hands, fluttering to the ground.

All I could do was breathe out her name into the air, torn between gratitude that she was alive, fearful that it was all just a case of mistaken identity, or worse, trickery. It was a little deafening when they followed my lead at louder decibels, but I knew it didn't matter. We already had her attention. A part of me wanted to run forward and gather her up in my arms, kiss her senseless and take her home right now; another was wary of a trap, a trick whose best outcome would merely rend my heart in two and at worst, kill her people, the people I'd sworn to protect in her stead. Another part of me just wanted run from here, in shame, because I didn't save her from her torment, because I had left her behind and never went back for her. I stared at her expression, watching the disbelief and hope swirl in her weary eyes, and saw the same woman I had bid a silent goodbye to too long ago. All I could do was stand there, my hands half-resting on my weapon, ready to hurt her if I had to, ready to welcome her home.

* * *

"Yes."

All I could do was not tremble as I knelt down in front of her, my hand steady as I offered her the small leather box and began to speak, using words that I had rehearsed over and over to get them perfect. What spilled out past my lips were poor ghosts of those phrases, but I knew it didn't matter; the question was still the same, the meaning still sincere. She stared at me, her eyes glistening in the light of the rising sun by the time I was finished. I knew that she knew that my reputation as a maverick was over-exaggerated, but judging by the shocked expression on her face, she still hadn't expected the degree of traditionalism I was displaying now as I knelt in front of her, asking for her hand in marriage. I waited for a breathless moment before her answer drifted past my ear. All I could do was pull her into my arms and kiss her breathless, telling her everything that I wanted to say but had no words to say them with, and knowing that she knew anyway.

All I could do was stand there, staring at him in shock as his question flowed over me. He had brought me here to our balcony, as he often had in the months past, to watch the sunrise with me. I had thought nothing of it since it was our ritual to savor the peace of the city and the start of a new day together on this balcony whenever he wasn't off-world. I hadn't expected this, not here at any rate, not where anyone walking past the sliding doors in these early hours of the morning could have seen us. Then again, we were an open secret, and had been for years. If anyone saw us at that moment, they would have only offered their blessings for our happiness. When he dropped to one knee, his eyes earnest and loving as he looked into mine, his voice tripping and stumbling as he spoke, his hands gently handing me a ring case, I knew that this moment had been long in coming, but everything that had happened in my life, our lives, was worth the wait. There was no doubt of what was between us, of the strength and love we shared. Marriage would be an adventure, with its highs and lows, but it would be worth it to wake up next to him every morning, fall asleep in his arms every night, and know that I was loved, unconditionally. I remembered to choke out an answer before I could start crying. The first tear though, never had a chance to fall as he pulled me close. All I could do was pour all my love into our first kiss as an engaged couple, letting him know all I could not say, and knowing that he knew what I felt anyway.

* * *

"Ready?"

All I could do was calm my breathing and relax my trembling muscles as he took my hand. I smiled at him, still handsome and charming in his Air Force dress blues as he was in his daily uniform, perhaps even more devastatingly so. I fell in love with the ordinary man he was, even though he was extraordinary in so many ways. He grinned back at me, laugh lines wrinkling at the corners of his eyes, a second chance for both of us, in more ways than one. My father had always told me that he wanted me to marry a man who would love me for the strong woman I am — hardheaded and stubborn on the worst of days, strong-willed and determined on the best— a man who would not only support and care for me, but would challenge me and keep me young. My heart had been broken before, my mind had been shattered before, but in him, the man I married that day, I was healed, heart and soul, mind and body. All I could do was to remind myself that this was real, and to breathe as the ceremony began. Otherwise, if I fainted, Carson _and_ Jennifer would fuss over my health.

All I could do was not fidget as she walked down the aisle, resplendent in her ivory wedding gown, a length of the silken cloth pulled up sari-like over her head to cover her loose curls. She glowed with an inner light that let everyone see the beautiful woman that I saw every time I looked at her. Her steps were smooth and even, unhurried to the casual observer, but I knew that she was thinking about the path she had traveled to come to this moment, the people we wished could be here, and the people who were here, in body or in spirit. When her hand was pressed into mine, she looked at me, trust and love in her eyes as her lips quirked in a happy smile. All I could do was remind myself not to faint or forget my vows as the ceremony began. Otherwise, Rodney would never let me live it down.

* * *

"Push."

All I could do was hold her, cradle her, encourage her, and allow her to use me as a punching bag as she brought new life into this world. It was a miracle on many levels, but no less painful. She wept, screamed and whimpered, clinging to me as if she would never let go. I never wanted to and I held her close, feeling her heartbeat fluttering against my skin, her uneven breaths caressing my arms, her tears staining my clothes and neck, her words mumbled and incoherent against my cheek. Our daughter came into this world with a shriek, an echo of her mother's exhausted efforts. All I could do was kiss them both, whispering how beautiful they were at that moment, how beautiful they would always be to me as I made the silent vow to protect them with my life.

All I could do was watch him cradle her in the first minutes of her life, mesmerized by the tiny miracle he held in his strong arms, a miracle that both of us created. His hands, roughened by calluses from years of handling weapons, caressed her soft skin with feather light touches. His eyes, capable of being charmingly flirtatious or chillingly murderous, drank her in as if he was in awe of her presence. His smile was for her alone, a different one than the one for me, and vastly different from the one he gave to the world in general. He was our guardian, her protector, my lover. As he placed her back in my arms, he was infinitely gentle and tender when he pressed a kiss to my forehead. All I could do was savor the moment as I leaned against his strength, our daughter in my arms, and cherish the knowledge that love would never falter, and I would never be alone in this life.


	8. Chapter 8

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm playing in the sandbox.

Prompt: _Mommy_

* * *

"Mommy!"

In one smooth motion, I turn around and kneel on one knee, arms outreached to catch my daughter as she runs into my arms, a bundle of energetic curiosity that exhausts all of her caregivers. She burbles happily as I lift her up in the air, her voice eagerly babbling about all that she's seen and done today while I've been at work. I listen as she proudly recites all that she has accomplished to me, bouncing merrily in my embrace, her eyes sparkling with innocent and mirth.

She is my pride and joy, my little miracle, the blessing I hoped for, but never truly expected to have. I cuddle her close as she talks endlessly about her day, giving thanks for her existence. We converse -- me asking questions about the part of her young life that I'm missing out on while fulfilling my duties, she answering them completely and honestly as she holds back nothing in her sharing with me -- as I carry her out to the balcony to feel the cool sea breeze on our faces. She points out landmarks on the endless sea, talking about the direction of the mainland, or gestures up at the sky, enthusiastically chattering about the veiled stars and planets that we can't see because of the brilliant sun.

It isn't long before I know he is there, leaning against the doorway, watching us, his girls, as we stand silhouetted against the beautiful horizon. I don't need to turn around to know that there is a content gaze in his eyes, a warm smile on his face, a relaxation to his soul as he ingrains this moment into his memory. This is what preserves his spirit, gives him his salvation and strength to carry on when despair beckons alluringly in his darkest hours. We are his beacons of hope and love; our daughter is our shared miracle.

I turn around with a welcoming smile, and he comes over to us both. Our daughter interrupts her account of her day to call, "Daddy" with a clap of her hands. He smiles gently, warmly as he kisses her forehead in greeting, murmuring her name with such tenderness that nearly brings tears to my eyes. It's such a cliché, I know, but he is a man that many people probably don't expect to be a gentle, devoted father. Our daughter coos at the greeting, her eyes half-closing with bliss that we're both here. A moment later, she perks up even more and begins telling her stories all over again. I smile, knowing that I will never grow weary of hearing her talk. I know I will miss this when she grows out of this age of unbridled energy, but I know I look forward to all the other, new challenges she will present to her father and me.

He smiles tenderly at me before he bushes his lips against my check, his left arm slipping around my waist and his other arm settling over mine as the two of us bear our daughter's light weight. I lean into his warmth, seeking his comfort and support, knowing I will always have it. Our daughter laughs at the shared cuddle; the two of us, we share a secret smile.

His right hand brushes over the silk fabric of my blouse, lovingly caressing the barely discernible bump where our second child grows. For my ear alone, he whispers, "Happy Mother's Day."


	9. Chapter 9

All Unwritten

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

Disclaimer: I'm playing in the sandbox.

Author's Note: Occasionally a quote becomes the daily prompt. This one is from Whistler from the TV show _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

Prompt: _I heard her that morning…_

* * *

I heard her that morning, six months after she was gone. It was an amused comment coming from a corridor on my daily run, where she had walked past me on her way to the indoor garden two doors down. I didn't hear words, only meaning.

It was fondness.

I had called her leader.

There is nothing that anyone could do or say that would ever change my loyalty to the woman who had given me a second chance at life.

* * *

I heard her that noon, seven months after she was gone. It was a soft laugh in my quarters where we had shared too few nights of relaxation as women, leaders, and above all, friends. I did not hear her words, only her meaning.

It was affection.

I had called her sister.

There is nothing anyone could do or say that would ever change this simple truth.

* * *

I heard her that afternoon, eight months after she was gone. It was a whisper on the balcony where she had found me after that fateful Sunday. I didn't hear what she said, only what she meant.

It was forgiveness.

I had failed her.

There is nothing that I could do that would ever be enough to atone for that simple fact.

* * *

I heard her that evening, nine months after she was gone. It was a caress on our balcony where we had spent so many nights together, speaking first as friends, then as colleagues, and then as lovers. I didn't catch her words, only her meaning.

It was devotion.

I love her.

There is nothing that any power in all the galaxies in existence can do to keep me from finding her and bringing her home.


End file.
